Incubus
by Werecat99
Summary: During the first years of the Fourth Age, something stirs beneath the Ash Mountains. Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, Radagast Old friends meet once more along with new and unexpected allies. Crossover: LotRxAlien. AU, of course.
1. Prologue: In the Deep

Disclaimer: Arda and its creatures are not mine. Neither are the Aliens (shudders). However, I think I've spotted Isilme napping on my bed…

**Incubus**

"_Far, far below the deepest delving of the Dwarves, the world is gnawed by nameless things. Even Sauron knows them not. They are older than he."_

- _The Two_ _Towers_, LoTR Book 3, Ch 5, _The_ _White Rider_

**Prologue: In the Deep**

"_Too deep we delved there, and woke the nameless fear." _

- The Lord of the Rings 2 – The Council of Elrond

- - -

_Mid February, Year 41 of the Fourth Age_

_Somewhere beneath Ered Lithui_

"Another wasted day! Whoever claimed that there's silver beneath these forsaken mountains was a fool!"

Thrain, son of Torin, glanced askance at his companion. Kíli, son of Lâr, had many good traits – his careless tongue not one of them.

"Wherever the King of the glittering Caves commands me, I go." Thrain felt the wall with his right hand, sensing the texture of the limestone around them. Despite his disrespectful comments, Kíli had a point: there was no silver to be found here.

Perhaps we should get back," said Kíli. "I heard rumors that Bifin caught a wild boar this morning, and it's been weeks since I tasted anything as good, served with ale."

Thrain sighed and secured his hatchet at his leather belt. "Fine, Kíli." They might as well head back – they had been underground since morning and a mug of ale did sound good.

Both lads made their way to the shaft leading above ground, passing several openings on the walls around them leading deeper. The echoes of steel hitting stone reached their ears, the comforting sound of the earth's heartbeat. In the stillness of the tunnels they crossed paths with other miners, exchanging brief greetings. They had almost reached the shaft when another of their companions stumbled upon them, his round face beaming with excitement.

"It's – it's incredible!"

"Easy, Barin," said Thrain, helping the other Dwarf to steady himself. "Catch your breath and tell us what happened."

Still panting, Barin pointed at a tunnel leading southwards. "Master Nóli's team discovered an ancient door engraved with words in an ancient tongue. Some form of elvish, they said, and the cavern before the door is littered with orcs' bones. They are trying to break through as we speak. Come!"

Barin started to run southwards, and Kíli followed his heel. After a moment of hesitation, so did Thrain. "Wait for me," he cried, his heart pounding inside his chest with excitement. The fleeting thought that what the elves had sealed should not be unleashed crossed his young mind, but he pushed his childish fears back. They had defeated the Dark Lord, had they not? Had not Evil perished, now the stuff of frightening winter tales around the fire?

The remnants of his fears vanished when he stood in the cavern before the door, its surface illuminated by several torches. High, sturdy, of aged oak and iron, the double doors towered over the heads of his comrades. Stretching his neck, Thrain caught glimpse of the Master Mason's form crouched by the door. His skillful hands sensed the wood, feeling the countless winters of silence it had endured in this forsaken place. Slowly, tenderly, the aged Dwarf traced the patterns of iron and the streaks of wood, seeking the secrets of this gate. Breathless – speechless – the assembled miners watched him as he rose and pointed at a spot where wood and metal met.

"Here," he said, his voice a hint of thunder.

Another Dwarf stepped forward, bare-chested, wielding a massive hammer: Master Nóli, one of the most experienced miners, whose team had found this gate. Hefting his hammer, he took a step backwards and managed a powerful blow on the gate. Like thunder the blow echoed through caverns and tunnels in the starless night of the deep. Had the soil beneath their feet trembled? Had a sigh followed the blow, a sigh of a thousand deaths? Thrain felt a shiver down his spine and lowered his eyes with shame for his trepidation. Then he looked up again, as the others around him took a step forward as Master Nóli pushed the gates open. Someone handed him a torch and he cast light to whatever lay behind the door.

Once more, Thrain stretched his neck to get a better glimpse. A vast cavern lay behind the gate, and the smell of humid, stale air reached his nostrils. As the other miners before him walked forward, Thrain followed, looking agape at the multicolored stalagmites and stalactites. The sparkled green and blue and yellow, and the sound of dripping water echoed around him in the vastness of the cave. Still, the seeds of doubt spoiled the magnificent sight around him; why had the elves sealed this place?

"Master Nóli!"

Kíli's voice made him focus, the icy fingers of terror gripping his heart anew. _Something is wrong here_. Just as he picked up his pace, Kíli called out again.

"Master Nóli! You must see this!"

Thrain reached the edge of a shallow pool, and found Kíli standing in the clear water up to his ankles. The strangest of things lay in the middle of the pool on a flat stone, barely above the water surface: an egg like nothing he had ever seen.

"Look what I've found," said Kíli and cocked his head, his voice quivering with pride. "It's a dragon's egg."

"Lad, get out of there," said an old Dwarf beside him, and Thrain turned his head to see Delin, the Master Mason, right next to him. With his brow furrowed over eyes focused and unblinking, his stare darted from Kíli to the strange egg. "This is no dragon's egg."

Kíli pouted. "What else can it be?" He raised his hoe and poked the egg.

"Lad, get out of there. This place was sealed for a reason." The concern in the old Dwarf's voice made Thrain's stomach churn.

Kíli continued to poke the egg, whose leathery surface throbbed in the most unsettling manner.

"By Smaug's backbone, lad, leave that egg al –"

Delin had hardly finished his words when the top of the egg opened. In a moment that seemed to linger on, Thrain watched his friend lean over the opening to peek inside. His dry throat closed on the warning cry he never voiced, when a foul creature, propelled by a muscular tail, leaped out of the egg and covered Kíli's face. Writhing, with his arms waving aimlessly around, Kíli fell back and lay still in the deafening silence of the cave.

After a moment of shock, the Master Mason and Master Nóli leaped inside the pool. Delin shoved a torch inside the egg while Master Nóli picked up Kíli and carried him out. Thrain watched in horror the arachnid creature that clung on his friend's face.

"Kíli…" he mumbled, still petrified. "All he wanted was a juicy piece of wild boar and a mug of ale." His head jerked sideways as a strong hand gripped his shoulder.

"Take heart, lad," the Master Mason said. "Your friend will be fine."

Yet his eyes spoke his doubt.

- - -

A bat flew up the shaft and into the night air and screeched in its own tongue the tale of the deep. The owls heard it and flew west and south, bearers of ill news.

Later that night, in a stable somewhere in Pelargir, a white tomcat heard the cry of the owl, and stirred in his sleep. Stretching his forelegs in a lazy, languid motion, he blinked his amber eyes – _eyes that saw all the things that men wish most to keep hidden. _Yawning, he stood and leaped on the stable's window, staring into the night.

His eyes darted back and forth, between his warm, cosy spot on the straw and the north and the evil that lurked there. After a moment of contemplation, Isilme leaped on the ground and took the path to the north, mumbling curses in High Feline about mortals and their stupidity.

_There should better be some fat rats in those caves_.

- - -

Isilme: Moonlight in Sindarin.

_All the things that men wish most to keep hidden:_ Reference to Queen Berúthiel's cats. In case you hadn't already guessed, Isilme is a descendant of those cats.

Why cats? Well, what did you expect from me? Anyway, in the first Alien film, the only creature that looked the Alien in the eye and lived to tell the tale was that ginger tomcat, Jonesy. It's only fitting that a cat should be in this tale.

If you spot any holes with LotR canon, please let me know. Including Dwarven names…

Inspiration for the title came from a 2000 AD graphic Novel.


	2. Many Are Called

Author's note: I have changed Mim's name to Kíli, since it was brought to my attention that Mim was the name of a petty Dwarf.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1: Many Are Called**

_Late February, somewhere in Eregion_

Talagan poked the burning logs before him, and gave another turn to the roasting quails. He leaned back against the trunk of a holly-tree and raised his eyes to the brow of the Misty Mountains at the east. The sun had just set, dyeing the eastern sky red. The young ranger inhaled deeply the evening air, the scent of thyme blending with the aroma of the roasting birds. At dusk, among the holly-trees and the cedars, Talagan felt at peace.

The sound of a twig breaking somewhere at his right made him sit up, all his senses in alert. Carefully, noiselessly, Talagan reached for his longbow. In the blink of an eye he snatched an arrow from his quiver, knelt and turned, bow nocked and raised towards the direction of the alarming sound.

"Who goes there?"

"A friend," replied a voice proud and clear, like the cry of an eagle soaring over mountainsides of untrodden snow. Talagan had heard this voice before – but where?

"Show yourself. Friends do not lurk in shadows."

Then a man stepped into the clearing, a man clad in a brown robe. And, much to the young ranger's embarrassment, several paces off his aim. The stranger's face seemed familiar, yet Talagan could not place him. Only when he saw the man's companions he remembered; _under the White Tree_. This man had the respect and friendship of King Aragorn.

As the brown-clad man approached the fire, sat on a log across him and warmed his hands, Talagan stared agape at his companions. What he had first thought as fur trimming on the stranger's hood was in fact a white cat, comfortably perched on the man's shoulders. A sparrow flitted around them and occasionally perched on the man's head and fingers. Cat and bird seemed to coexist in a bizarre truce – a fragile truce, judging from the gleam in the cat's amber eyes. Talagan thought he saw the yellow eyes of a wolf reflecting the light of the fire among the dense bushes behind the stranger, but no other beast approached.

The young ranger cleared his throat. "My apologies, my lord. I meant no offence."

The stranger smiled, and fixed his eyes on Talagan's face – eyes deep and brown like fertile soil after spring rain. "No offence taken, my son. And please, call me Radagast. I have been looking for you."

For a heartbeat, Talagan found himself at loss of words. He gave the quails another turn. "For what reason, if I may ask?"

"I am on my way to Aglarond," replied Radagast. "For a matter of grave importance, of which the king must know."

Talagan poked the roasting birds with his knife to check the meat. Although naturally suspicious of random encounters in the wilderness, his instincts told him not to fear this man. Something about him told him so – an air of serenity, a blessing in a tongue long forgotten danced around him, that even beasts furred and feathered trusted him. Then the words of king Aragorn dawned in his mind, words he had uttered under the shade of the White Tree: "…_wisdom of claw and feather. Walk in peace, my friend_."

Who was he to question the king's judgment? Talagan removed the birds from the fire, sliced them and offered the brown-clad traveler a portion. "Wherever you go, I will follow, Radagast, and I will be eyes and ears to the king."

Radagast nodded, and nibbled the roasted meat. Between bites, Talagan noticed that his new companion ate little, if any at all. Sitting still with his hands on his knees, the plate forgotten upon them, Radagast stared into the dark woods, lost in his thoughts. After a while, the cat took care of the roasted bird, climbing off Radagast's shoulders. The man made no attempt to stop him when the cat grabbed the whole chunks and trotted a few paces away, eating and growling at unseen foes lusting after his supper.

Later that night, between dreams and waking, the king's words haunted Talagan's mind.

"…_wisdom of claw and feather_…"

- - -

_Early March, Aglarond_

"Outrageous!"

Thrain cowered under the glare of Dwalin Ironsinger, Gimli's chief advisor. The Lord of the Glittering Caves, however, had not yet uttered a word. His gaze, sharp and focused, burned Thrain's face, as he stroked his beard. Then Dwalin spoke again, and Thrain wished for the rock beneath him to open up and hide him in its sheltering cradle.

"In all my years, I have never heard such foolery! Creatures of evil still lurking beneath the Ash Mountains?" His brown eyes blazed under thick, graying brows as he turned to Gimli Elf-friend. "My lord, surely, you cannot be considering this lad's tale as true?"

Gimli remained silent. His stare remained on Thrain, who felt small and insignificant before his lord, amidst the sparkling, multicolored glory of Aglarond.

Dwalin snorted. "Surely, the lad must have misunderstood. Such fool–"

Out of the corner of his eye, Thrain saw Gimli waving at Dwalin to be silent. Only then did he dare to raise his head and face his lord. Gimli stroked his beard, his eyes looking past him, as if old memories had resurfaced. When he focused his sharp glace back on Thrain, Gimli's voice echoed of longing for times and friends long lost – but never forgotten.

"Younger and foolish I was, Dwalin, when I heard the tale of a friend who fell long, battling a creature of fire and shadow. In the shadows of a wood older than any mortal recollection, he spoke of dark tunnels far below the deepest delving of the Dwarves. There, at the uttermost foundations of stone, unnamed things dwell." Gimli leaned back on his seat, his eyes now fixed past Thrain. "Was he a fool, he who spoke of this?"

Another voice answered Gimli's question, and all heads turned to see the stranger who had stepped in the Hall of the Lord of the Glittering caves. Thrain glanced over his shoulder and saw two Men standing there; a young one who stood agape in the brilliance of the Hall, his gaze tracing the veins and the spirals of red and gold and green around them. His older companion, though, leaned on a wooden stuff adorned with leaves and feathers, and his gaze, warm and honest, met Gimli's gaze with the silent ease of old friendship.

"It was I whom they called fool," the brown-clad man said, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Yet he who called me so proved to be a greater fool, Gimli Elf-friend, as you well know." He slightly bowed his head. "Well met again, Lord of the Glittering Caves."

Gimli rose from his seat and he too bowed. "Well met, my Lord Radagast." He waved at a seat close to him and then at Thrain. "Do you know of this evil Thrain, son of Torin, speaks of?"

Radagast took the offered seat, while his younger companion stood at the back, his eyes darting sideways, shifting his weight from one leg to another. For a moment, Thrain felt pity for the young Man, but then his attention turned back to his lord and his guest.

"Indeed I do, Gimli. I too have heard word of an evil lurking beneath the Ash Mountains."

"If I may ask, my lord, how did you hear of this? It is my understanding that Thrain came here straight from the excavation site, and spoke to no one about this." Dwalin's eyes burned with suspicion under his furrowed brow.

Radagast glanced at Thrain, then at Gimli, a hint of mischief curling the corner of his mouth. "A little bird told me."

Thrain had never expected such a lighthearted – if not rude – answer, but Gimli seemed to share the joke, stifling a grin under his beard.

"Enough of this," said Gimli and stood. "Let no Man or Dwarf speak ill of the hospitality Gimli Elf-friend shows to his guests." He motioned to Radagast. "Come, friends, and share our supper of roasted meat, mushrooms and cool ale. Once our stomachs are full and our thirst quenched, we will talk more of this."

Radagast stood, following Gimli's request. "I trust that your gracious invitation extends to my companions?"

"Of course! But I see only that skinny lad – are there more waiting outside?"

Radagast stroked his beard. "This is Talagan," he said, "one of the king's rangers. "Excuse his aloofness, Gimli. His kin are unaccustomed to large gatherings of people. Two others wait just outside, unsure whether they'd be welcome in your halls."

"Well met, my lord," said Talagan and bowed his head, his cheeks a bright pink shade.

"Well met, young ranger," replied Gimli. "And call the others in, Radagast. Any friend of yours is welcome in my halls."

Radagast waved a pattern in the air and spoke two names. "Isilme, Niben, come!" He had hardly finished his words when a white cat trotted inside the hall and a sparrow flew in. Both animals hurried to the man in earthen brown, and the cat stroked its arched back against his robes and the bird perched on his shoulder.

Gimli's eyes darted from cat to bird and back to cat, frowning. "I am sure that we can provide seeds and crumbs for your feathered friend, Radagast. And we have too many fat rats for your other companion."

"_Mreoow."_

"Isilme would like some boar as well, Gimli," replied Radagast. The twinkle of mischief in his eyes flashed anew.

Gimli rolled his eyes and showed his guests to the dining hall.

- - -

There was hardly any food left on the tables when Radagast leaned back on his chair. Again, he had hardly eaten, as Talagan noted. A piece of bread, a slice of cheese, a sip of wine, an apple; the brown-clad man ate little, but his eyes warmed when the cat purred on his knees and the bird chirped on his shoulder, as though their joy was nourishment enough to him. Gimli took out his pipe and offered some of the Halfling's Leaf to Radagast, which he accepted with a slight bow of his head.

Puffing his pipe, Gimli turned to the young Dwarf. "So, Thrain, tell us again what happened after that creature attacked your friend Kíli."

Thrain cleared his throat, his cheeks now nearly as red as his bushy beard. "We thought him dead, my lord, for the creature was attached on his face, blocking his nose and mouth. But he still breathed, and the healer tried to cut that fiend off. Every time he tried so, however, the creature wrapped its tail tighter around Kíli's neck, choking him. Until one day we found it lying lifeless on the ground."

Dwalin took a sip from his mug. "It had just died? Or did the healer do something that resulted to its death?"

Thrain shook his head. "Nothing, sir. The healer swears that all his attempts to remove the creature resulted to superficial cuts, if any at all. The creature had just died, and Kíli was well, breathing and talking, although paler than usual. But since his appetite was as ravenous as ever, we thought that it was over." A sad smile curled the corners of his mouth. "It was not."

Talagan felt a shiver down his spine. Despite the roaring fires, the strong wine and the Dwarves' welcoming disposition, the mere thought of being underground made him edgy. The young Dwarf's tale only added to his trepidation. He glanced at Radagast, who watched Thrain, his eyes focused and unblinking on an otherwise calm face. Talagan inhaled deeply and took another sip from his cup, hoping that the wine's aftertaste of thyme would ease his nervousness. It did not.

Thrain cleared his throat again and continued his tale. "A few days later, after supper, while we were sitting around the fire listening to Master Delin's tales from the war, Kíli looked sick, as though he had eaten too much. Someone offered him a mug of ale to wash the bitter taste down, but this only made him worse. Poor Kíli's discomfort soon turned to intence pain, and he fell to the ground, twitching and clutching his chest." Thrain paused, his eyes shut and his fists clenching the arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles had turned white. When he spoke again, his voice quivered with hatred – hatred and pain. "The foul beast ate his way out of Kíli's chest."

Many a gasp followed Thrain's words. Radagast's voice, calm, soothing, broke the uneasy silence. "What kind of creature, Thrain? Like the one that had been attached on your friend's face?"

Thrain shook his head. "No, a different one; one with rows of sharp teeth and claws, fast and stealthy. Master Nóli never got to his axe to kill the filthy fiend – it vanished into the shadows of the lower tunnels." Thrain hung his head, his brow crowned with droplets of sweat despite the warmth of the hall.

"What became of it?" Gimli puffed his pipe, his furrowed brow in contrast with his calm voice.

After a moment of silence, Thrain spoke in a low, weary tone. "There have been sightings of it – mere shadows sliding across walls, a hiss, a graze of talons against granite and limestone. Then a shriek follows, the cry of an unfortunate kinsman who falls victim to its insatiable hunger. Many have delved into the lower tunnels never to be seen again – not even their remains."

Gimli tapped his fingers on the table. "This is indeed serious."

Dwalin nodded. "We must dispatch a group of trained warriors to the site – young miners are no match for such beasts." He turned to Thrain. "Tell me, lad, has Master Delin secured the area?"

"He has, sir," Thrain replied. "We have barricaded the tunnels the creature is supposed to lurk in, but we could not tell whether we have contained the threat or not. All excavation work has stopped, and the miners have all moved above ground. Even so, another one vanished during the night before my departure."

Radagast stroked his beard. "I believe that the king must hear of this. My ranger friend will convey to the king the account of this incident, but perhaps Thrain should travel to Minas Tirith as well, in case King Aragorn needs additional information."

"And so it shall be," Gimli's roaring voice thundered in the dining hall. "Thrain, son of Torin, will travel to the white city and Gimli, son of Gloin, will march to the Ash Mountains!"

Dwalin raised his hand in protest. "My lord, surely, you cannot –"

"No, Dwalin," replied Gimli, shaking his head. "I have grown restless and my axe has long thirsted for fresh game. I will go."

Dwalin bowed his head in defeat while, across the table, Thrain stared at Talagan wide-eyed. The young ranger's heart longed to see Minas Tirith again, but he had never traveled with a Dwarf before. On the other hand, nor had had traveled with a man who talked to animals before meeting Radagast.

This would be an interesting journey.

* * *

Additional notes (and a couple of questions): 

The line "Wisdom of claw and feather" comes from my haiku "Brown Spirit" I wrote for Radagast. hangs head in shame Pimping my own stories…

I'd like to know whether the "voices" of canon characters ring true since I'm more accustomed with writing original characters.

How was description in this chapter? Too much? Too little?


	3. In the White City

Disclaimer: Arda and its creatures are not mine. Same applies to the Aliens. I'm keeping Isilme and Thrain, though.

* * *

**CHAPTER 2: To the White** **City**

_Late March, somewhere on the Great West Road_

Thrain had traveled little in his young life, and always in the company of other Dwarves – never with a Man, and the annoying lack of sense of rhythm of their kind. Thrain's kin marched with a steady pace, each step the strike of an ethereal hammer – of a heartbeat. Unlike the long-legged folk who trotted, walked, ran and jumped according to their whimsical mood. Still, Thrain did his best to keep up with the ranger, declining his frequent offers for rest.

Let no Man say that any of Mahal's sons is of lesser endurance and resolve.

So he followed the ranger in the path eastwards, humming an old working song to himself, keeping some rhythm to his marching.

_Hey ho! Wood and charcoal, fuel the forges!_

_Hey ho! Pump the bellows, feed the fire!_

_Hit the metal while it's hot,_

_Strike your hammer!_

- - -

_Strange folk, those Dwarves_, thought Talagan – sturdy and stubborn. His companion seemed tired, and yet he refused all offers for rest. Many a time had Talagan seen Thrain limp out of the corner of his eye. Yet when he gazed directly at him, the Dwarf walked as if his feet were not blistered, as if the toe he had stubbed a few hours back did not bother him. He walked on, humming a strange tune; his eyes, focused and unblinking, stayed fixed on the road, oblivious to the glory of the spring along the Great West Road.

A colourful sea of wild flowers littered the hillsides and the plains around them: chamomile, clover and daisies. The evening breeze carried the scent of flowers and herbs, lifting his spirits. Talagan inhaled deeply as he searched the roadsides near their camp for a certain herb: snakeweed. He soon found some, and gathered several thick, fibrous leaves.

Later that evening, Talagan removed his boots, crushed a couple of leaves and placed them on his own blisters. Then, under the curious stare of the dwarf, he bandaged his feet, aware that the essence of the weed would soon heel him. Stifling a grin, he offered some leaves to the Dwarf across the fire.

"Would you like some?"

Thrain's eyes darted from Talagan's face to his outstretched hand. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and took the offered leaves.

"Yes, please."

- - -

They soon reached Firien Wood and the willow-thickets where Snowbourn flowed into Entwash. They made camp there and, while Talagan walked off in search of game, Thrain took out the whetstone from his backpack to sharpen his axe. The sound of stone against metal soothed him, unlike the crude sound of the ranger's singing. He had often heard Gimli Elf-friend speak of the elven songs with high regard, but his lord had never heard this lad's singing.

In the past, every time someone spoke of rangers, Thrain thought of stealth and noiseless grace. Not anymore. The lad had probably scared away all forest life in miles around them.

Obviously, those hares were deaf.

- - -

After several days of uneventful travel, they saw the bare hilltop of Amon Dîn amidst the heavily wooded hills of the Drúadan Forest. Soon after, they reached the Pelennor Fields. Talagan walked slowly there, feeling the air around him heavy with death – death and honor. Yet he couldn't help but grin at the awestruck Dwarf as Thrain gazed upon Minas Tirith for the first time.

The white walls shone under the afternoon sun, but as they walked closer, they saw myriads of colors adorning the walls. Roses and petunias, red and yellow, blue and purple, and all sorts of flowers grew at the doorsteps and windowsills of countless buildings, miniature multicolored banners swaying to the breeze under the White Tree.

On their way to the up to the upper level, Talagan insisted on stopping at the White Cat inn for a mug of ale and a short rest – they shouldn't appear before the king short of breath and covered in the dust of the road.

The Dwarf scowled. "Gimli Elf-friend considers this mission of grave importance. We must not delay." Then his frown deepened, as he sniffed the air outside the inn. "Do I smell pork chops and roasting sausages with thyme and garlic?"

Talagan grinned. "Best sausages north of Pelargir. And they serve rather good ale too."

An hour later, cleaner, fed and less thirsty, Man and Dwarf reached the uppermost level.

- - -

Nothing could match the glory that had been Moria, the splendor of Erebor or the sparkling wonder that was Aglarond – _nothing_. Still, the city of Minas Tirith was pretty decent, Thrain admitted silently to himself. Good masonry, interesting architecture, and the pillars in the king's halls were smoothly carved, aligned almost in perfect order with each other. One or two were off by half an inch, but again only a Dwarf's eye could detect such divergence from perfection.

They waited at the antechamber to be announced, and Thrain stole glances at the people around them. Much to his relief, the residents of Minas Tirith seemed accustomed to the presence of Dwarves – not once did a servant or a soldier look twice at him. Then the door opened and a young page, skinny and freckled-faced, waved at them.

"The king will see you now."

Thrain stood, placed his axe on his left shoulder, stretched out his chest and followed Talagan into the king's council chamber. He kept his eyes straight ahead and his face calm – let no one say that any of Mahal's sons gawked at the presence of any Man – even the king.

Admittedly, it took some effort not to gawk.

The king looked …_tall_; tall and ageless. Silver streaks lined his temples and lines crowned his brow, the tale of unspoken burdens written upon them. But his hand was steady when he waved at them to come closer, the hand that had wielded the Flame of the West against the hordes of Mordor. Amidst the stone glance of the line of kings, Thrain felt the weight of years heavy upon his shoulders.

Yet another presence caught his eye; a presence as radiant as the amethysts and the sapphires of Aglarond and as sharp and terrible as the fine blade of a steel sword: Arwen Undómiel, the Queen of Gondor. Her comely face, fresh and smooth and hairless, seemed untouched by time; save for her eyes, grey and deep, the lore and tales of Elvenkind playing in their depths.

"Well met again, Talagan," said the king, his voice deep and thoughtful. "And welcome to Minas Tirith, Thrain, son of Torin. Radagast the Brown considers the news you bring of great importance, and so does Gimli, I believe."

Thrain bowed his head. "Indeed, sire. The Lord of the Glittering Caves bids you well, and asks you to consider my tale."

"Ah. And how is my friend? Had he no greeting for an old friend?"

Only then did Thrain notice the third presence by the king's throne. An Elf stood there, tall and handsome, with long strands of hair crowning a face of perfect harmony. He leaned on a longbow of rare craftsmanship. Although Thrain had little knowledge of the art of bow-making, his practice limited to swords and axes, he knew skilful craftsmanship when he saw it. This Elf should be Legolas, Gimli's friend. Thrain struggled to recall whether this Elf was of noble birth, bearing some title. Was he a prince or a lord, perhaps? Thrain could not remember. His memory always failed him when it came to protocol and court etiquette – what use were such things to him, a Dwarf who loved venturing in the deep, harvesting the fruits of the earth?

Thrain drew in a deep breath. "Well met, my lord Legolas." He dared a glance at the fair Elf and, to his relief, he did not appear insulted. "Gimli Elf-friend sends his regards, with the hope that you will join him in another quest. He misses beating you in orcs' body count."

Legolas grinned. "Then my bow will soon join his axe in a new adventure. But come, tell us more."

Thrain bowed his head, searching for the right words. "Something stirs beneath the Ash Mountains, sire," he said, raising his eyes to the king. "During a mining expedition for silver, some of my comrades came upon a cave sealed behind an ancient door adorned with what seemed to be elven scriptures." The marble gaze of the long-dead kings burned his back. He felt their silent reproach in the air around him, an icy draft of never-ending winter. _This is your fault, foolish Dwarf! Your worthless comrades have unleashed new evil in the world! Why did you disturb what the Elves had sealed?_ "None of us could read the markings – we were miners, not scholars, sire," continued Thrain, fearing the king's response.

Much to his relief, there was no reproach in King Aragorn's stare. "Please, Master Thrain, continue." His gentle tone soothed Thrain's troubled heart.

"We found a strange creature inside, sire, one that feeds off living creatures, eating its way out of my friends' chests. I know little of its ways, other than it moves fast and no noise warns of its presence. It lurks in the shadows and many of my folk vanished without a trace. The leader of our expedition, Master Delin, sealed off the lower tunnels where we think it dwells, but it's doubtful whether we have contained it or not." Thrain paused for a moment, letting out the breath he had held for long. "My lord Gimli marches as we speak to the Ash Mountains, sire, to deal with this creature we inadvertently set loose."

Aragorn rubbed his chin, the lines on his forehead deeper. "This is indeed serious, Master Thrain. You spoke of carvings and signs in an elven tongue scribed upon the door. Do you, perchance, recall them?"

Thrain lowered his gaze, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Forgive me, sire, I do not. I am just a simple miner."

"A miner with great courage," replied a voice soft and clear like silver chimes to the night breeze.

Thrain looked up and saw the queen smile at him, and his cheeks burned anew.

"If my people sealed that creature in the past, then perhaps the incident has been recorded in our lore. I will search my father's archives as soon as possible," Arwen added and placed her hand on Aragorn's arm, a passing cloud of sorrow darkening her gaze when she mentioned her father.

Aragorn nodded. "Every bit of information might prove vital, Arwen. Thank you." He gently cupped her hand with his. He leaned back on his throne and stretched his legs. "Legolas, my friend, I believe that Andúril has been sheathed for too long. Perhaps it is time for a new adventure."

"Surely, your majesty, the affairs of state," Legolas replied, the seriousness in his voice in complete contrast with the playfulness of his gaze.

"Ah, the affairs of state! Faramir can take care of those. I've missed the wilderness." Aragorn waved and in an instant several servants appeared around them. "Show our honoured guests to their chambers," he ordered. "Rest, my friends, for in two days we ride to the side of Gimli Elf-friend!"

Thrain bowed his head and followed the servants, pushing the horror of the upcoming journey at to the back of his mind. For now, he rejoiced at the prospect of riding with the king.

And still, one thought persisted: _When will it be a good time to tell them that I cannot ride?_

- - -

In the tunnels beneath Ered Lithui, a creature lurked in the shadows, waiting. Fierce hunger burned its gut.

_Patience_, it thought. _Patience._ _We will feed soon_.

- - -

Not far from the beast, half a day's journey eastwards, other shadows lurked in dimly lit caves. Malformed creatures dressed in rags sought broken blades and rusty helmets and breastplates, some still bearing the faded sign of a white hand. Limping, whining, they fought over broken whetstones and worn hammers to sharpen swords and hatchets and mend whatever piece of armour they could find.

One of them, somewhat taller, with broad shoulders and a filthy patch over his left eye, walked away from his companions and stared out to the moonless night. The seal had been broken – he was sure of that. He had felt it in his sleep, in his blood, the cry of an oath sworn in another time and place – another life.

One of his companions limped to him and grasped his arm. "What now, Zagkrut?"

After a moment of silence, Zagkrut turned his good eye to the crooked face of his comrade. "Now we wait."

The creature nodded and limped back in the depths of the gate, while Zagkrut turned his gaze back to the night.

_We wait_, he thought. _For the king_.

* * *

Author's notes: 

Many thanks for all your reviews and suggestions! purr

Mahal: The name among the Dwarves for the Vala Aulë, who made the Fathers of their race in ancient times, and was revered by all Dwarves.

Snakeweed: Plantain. The use mentioned here is accurate - plantain can be used on blisters from hiking, according to my herbal books.

Again, I'd like to know whether the voices of the canon characters ring true.

Oh, and the dwarven song in the beginning is mine, in case you are wondering.


End file.
